Writing Desk
by arctique48
Summary: The ages pass and still it sits, silently witnessing the hard work of so many of Hogwarts’ finest. From Rowena Ravenclaw to Hermione Granger.


**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belongs to JKR**

Her father had had this desk made. Hand carved from the finest ash trees Swiss forests could provide, magical runes inscribed in ancient wards and blessings. She remembered when it sat new in his study and all she longed to do was sit at it and write with her new gold tipped phoenix quill. He told her that when her time came the desk would go to her and it had been a dream of hers for years. But when the time did come, when her father died in combat, it did not seem such a great prize. When she and her mother fled France the desk had stayed… lying disused in a forgotten corner of a lost palace.

It had been Salazar who bought it back. Just before the first term of their new school. "I have a surprise for you" he had said, and she had followed him to the hidden room that overlooked the lake she had grown to love. There, below the window, sat her desk, quill and all. She had turned to Salazar wide-eyed and he had smiled, "Happy Birthday love."

The rosy hue of the wood shone in the light of the dawning sun. The quill she wrote with now was of raven not phoenix, passing rather than rebirth, but she did not mourn any individual. The feud between Godric and Salazar was ever present but she and Helga pulled them through – the bond between them strong as ever.

Absently her eyes scanned the parchment before her. An essay on charms from a young girl in her house. She smiled remembering her first ever Windgardium Leviosa sitting on this very desk with her father before her, patiently instructing... The trees whispered beyond the lake and Rowena Ravenclaw sat before her window chewing lightly on the end of her quill. This room she would give to the best, to those who would pull Hogwarts through the undoubtedly rough times ahead. The Founding Four would not last forever and this they knew. Plans had begun already. She herself was working on spells to entwine a part of each their souls with Godric's favourite hat; their witness who would guide their pupils to their rightful homes. Salazar had even hinted enclosing a bit of himself within the stone of the castle so that his descendents would remember him… Helga would leave her enchanted ceiling, Godric his hat and sword, Salazar his secret chamber and Rowena… Rowena would gift her desk and favourite tower to the Head Students of Hogwarts, so that they too could gain comfort in the magical wood and from the view gather the inspiration and motivation that would lead the school through times of conflict and divide.

* * *

The desk was old. Carved with graffiti of the ages, but still humming with that ever-comforting power of secret spells long forgotten. It intrigued him. The ever-changing runes on the legs, the inkwell… his own inkpot sat neatly, there among the stains of decades. Emerald green. Starkly different to the reds and golds that adorned the walls. Indeed Gryffindor was his home but Albus Dumbledore would always be somewhat partial to bright green.

The midday sun shone bright through the window and he smiled. He loved this castle; everything from the quidditch field to the North Tower bought him delight. It never grew old, new corridors and rooms springing out of the ground at random intervals, as if simply to amuse themselves. In fact, this Beltane just past, he had been lucky enough to stumble on an entire room devoted to the indoor growing of exotic breeds of fungi. Of course, the following day when he had gone with a close plant-loving friend to show off the feat of Herbology, the room was nowhere to be found. He had brushed off their accusations with little mind, only wishing that he had more time to explore the eternal wonder that was Hogwarts Castle.

It was barely gone lunchtime and his fellow head student would be elsewhere for several more hours, so Albus inked his quill and continued with his letter to home.

"…at the advise of a favourite house elf of mine I am putting serious consideration into the growing of a beard. What would your advice on the matter be? Martha felt the auburn would be slightly overpowering but…"

* * *

The sun was low in the sky, filtering through the window in golds and liquid ambers. He had grown to hate that colour, the colour of the setting sun. It was a herald of the darkness to come, of the black of night that bought back memories of a childhood best forgotten. This castle had been his haven in times of desperation and he had worked hard in an attempt to repay the debt. Now as he sat at this old desk as Head Boy and looked out on his last sunset at Hogwarts.

Tomorrow he would leave this school, never to return as Tom Riddle (the very sound of the name caused him to cringe). Tomorrow he would begin his cause, his long awaited campaign for two goals: revenge and immortality. He would avenge the death of his mother, going at once to Little Hangleton to secure the passing of his filthy blooded father. The thought brought a smile to his pale face, he would make the man understand what he had been put through…the shame he felt in bearing that name.

The table bore the work of months of researching from ancient and probably illegal tomes. He had been self-teaching the dark arts since his second year, and working on the curses of a more unforgivable nature from his seventeenth birthday, the date when his wand was no longer tracked by the ministry. The rewards had been numerous; he had a certain flare for the illicit brand of magic and was confident nothing could come between him and his vengeance; he had got away with murder before. Give him a few years and he would be the greatest wizard the world had ever seen, his very name striking fear in the hearts of men.

He reached forward to pick up the top most parchment from the untidy pile. He smiled at what he saw, the dying rays of the sun giving his eyes a light from the flames of hell. To the silent watchers of the lake and forest the dark haired boy spoke aloud… "I am Lord Voldemort."

* * *

She cross-legged on the top of the small writing desk, back resting against the cool glass of the window behind her. The book she held in her lap would have gained her no end of ribbing from her roommate, the current Head Boy. It was an utterly cheesy muggle romance novel she had picked up at Kings Cross this year, at the recommendation of her mother… It was a favourite of Petunia's. The idea had been that by reading it she might be able to find something to talk about with her narrow minded sister, but as she waded through pages of badly written and entirely unnecessary smut she began to wonder if it was really worth the effort…

Sighing she banished the book to her bag and shifted to glance out the window. The dusky twilight gave form to a group of four boys, no older than herself, wandering up from the lake. A month ago and she would have cringed at the sight of them, but now she couldn't help but smile. It had certainly been an experience, sharing living quarters with her proudly proclaimed archenemy, but she was now eternally grateful of Dumbledore's choice in Head Boy.

The boy she had seen for so long as self-obsessed and hopelessly arrogant appeared to her now as one of the most caring and talented people she had ever met. Spending so much time in close quarters with him had bought out endearing features she otherwise would never have seen… Like the way his socks never matched, the way that even when his hand was nowhere near it his hair was incurably messy, how he took off his shoes before coming in after quidditch practice and the way he alone could calm Sirius Black's temper. And he always made her laugh. Not in the way he did other people, with large stunts and humiliated Slytherins, but with a quick wit that she had never before noticed…

Blushing she shook her head to remove the girly notions. He may have improved greatly in her mind, but she was by no means ready to accept James Potter as anything more than a valued work partner.

…All the same, she found it inexplicably difficult to keep her eyes away from the small heart engraved in the corner of the table, circling the initials JP+LE.

* * *

A quill scratched eagerly over official watermarked parchment. It was a job application, the owner of the quill filling in his 'Previous Positions of Responsibility'. A flurry of leaves brushed against the window and the boy's ginger head shot up, scowling in the direction of the forest as if nature itself was responsible for breaking his line of thought. He wore serious looking glasses, horn rimmed, and an expression of one who perhaps thought slightly too highly of himself. The distraction passed and he returned his attentions once more to the form, quill hovering uncertainly over the section marked 'Personal Contacts in the Ministry of Magic'.

* * *

It was cold outside. Snow had been steadily falling for close to a week now and the roaring fire was not enough to dispel the draught she had created in letting the Head Boy's owl through the window. The eagle owl was now perched regally behind her on the back of its master's favourite armchair, observing her with alarmingly sharp amber eyes. Shaking her head to vanquish any thoughts of evil owls the girl returned to her table. Christmas was in under a week and as Head Girl she was required to stay for the holiday to ensure the smooth running of the events scheduled. The detailed plans for said events littered the small writing desk, written in colour changing ink with sparkly bullet points in the hope of holding the interest of the prefects they were designed for. The Head Boy of course found this notion ridiculous, stating that they were not 'mudblood first years' and were unlikely to be spurred into action by shape shifting borders, but she remained undeterred, colourful memos ready for distribution.

This was to be her last Christmas at Hogwarts, a thought which scared her as much as it inspired nostalgia. The world outside was growing darker and darker and it seemed that this castle was the one beacon in Voldemort's reign of terror. The war had been raging steadily for over a year and the number and nature of casualties still left her blood running cold. She was acknowledged as the best witch in their year, but apart from the few skirmishes she had backed Harry and Ron with she had no real experience of fighting for her life. Glancing again at the owl she sighed. It would be different for him, her partner in office, Malfoy. As a pureblood he was free from all of the accusations that shadowed her, but still she worried for him, she did not see how anyone could serve the Dark Lord willingly and come away with soul intact.

And serve him he would. That she did not doubt. In this few months she had worked with the Slytherin she had learnt much more of his character than she would previously have dreamed. She knew now that he had a disturbing ability to read emotions in others while perfectly masking his own. She knew that he could guess her mood from the way she sat down in a chair, that he could challenge an enchanted suit of armour to duel with a medieval broadsword and win. She knew that he wrote to his mother every Friday evening after quidditch practice and he liked his hot chocolate with whipped cream, chocolate chips and an extra shot of butterbeer. She also knew that as amusing their conversations here in the Head Student common room were, in two terms time they would be fighting to the death on opposite sides of a war.

Malfoy was not the only one she worried for, by no means at all. Every day was a battle of wills not to break down with the overwhelming fear for those she loved. Her own parents had gone into hiding only a month ago and she woke each morning dreading what official black envelopes the Ministry would dispatch today. It was Harry she feared for the most though. He had the protection of Albus Dumbledore, but their headmaster had never looked wearier than he did now and she began to doubt just how far the old man's powers would stretch. The deep depression that had descended on Harry after Sirius's death returned sporadically, and her and Ron were doing everything in their power to keep his mind off of the unavoidable ultimatum that would come at the end of this year.

Silently she pulled forward one of the sheets (an annotated diagram of 'The Great Hall's Christmas Trees and the Strategic Placing of their Coloured Baubles for Maximum Effect') in an attempt to stop the flow of disheartening thoughts. Pulling herself up she began to add a few notes, frowning at herself for being amusedby the comments some albino ferret had scrawled in the margins. Effectively distracted it was three hours later that Draco Malfoy wandered in to find Hermione Granger fast asleep, sprawled over the circus of rainbow coloured parchments with a small smile on her face.


End file.
